


super rich kids (with nothing but loose ends)

by orphan_account



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Angst, But Also!, Drugs, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Minor Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V, Money Money Money, Organized Crime, Rich Min Yoongi | Suga, Rich Park Jimin, Switch Min Yoongi | Suga, Switch Park Jimin, Violence, Writer Min Yoongi | Suga, eventually, get ur money kings!, i love that those are common tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yoongi tries to do two things. One, do not make bad decisions. Two, do not associate with the rich and reckless.Jimin wants to do two things. One, to get as far away from his life as possible. Two, to have a fucking good time doing it.But sometimes to get what we want we all need to dance in the fire. Regardless of how badly we might get burned.$ $ $





	1. bidding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this [yoongi](https://pin.it/x4wg6x76qx7oat) and this [jimin](https://pin.it/4j7ct2mzukcegi)  
> 

Yoongi writes gay erotic fiction for a living.

And it should be introduced like that. Rapid and cutting and very honest. Because that's the way he said it to people naturally. Usually in some overly extravagant charity function Hoseok has dragged him to. Questioned by pretentious peers who look at him like the homosexuality is catching when he answers their question of, “and what do you do for a living?”

Just like he is doing tonight.

The woman facing him looks too young to be old. But it's probably the result of botox and heavy set foundation. Accompanied by a line of pearls, a sweetheart neckline ball gown. Talking about how hard it was to reschedule hot yoga and find a babysitter for tonight. Before she takes a heavily practiced sorrowful sigh, _but anything for those darling poor people._

Which almost causes Yoongi to smack her over the head with the hors d’oeuvre tray a waiter carries beside them. Until he realises, in this plane of reality at least, he is supposed to be just like them.

In his suit too starched and flashy to be enjoyable. Shoes too polished to be worn with ease. He is a gay erotic fiction writer but he's a loaded and reputable one at that. So yes, he's supposed to be like them. Even if ‘them’ was those who said phrases like darling poor people as though said people in poverty weren't the same ones they turned their noses up at on street corners.

Maybe the dislike of these people stems from the fact he was once one of those darlings in poverty, with hand me down shoes and too tight clothes because he couldn't afford to adjust his wardrobe to his growing body.

Maybe it was just the fact he was a human fucking being.

But this was for Hoseok. Hoseok who cared too much about what the other people thought. A good egg really, he didn't belong here either. But he was much more open to mixing in. Maybe he even enjoyed it, as much as Yoongi hated that thought.

After all it was the same Hoseok who had took Yoongi aside earlier in the week, naturally gave him the number for a good tailor and said something along the lines of, “please stop coming to the events I invite you to dressed as Fall Out Boy in 2008”.

Which was a shame it wasn't brought to his attention earlier, Yoongi would of loved to crank it up a notch and deliver the whole gay erotic fiction line with guy liner and band tees.

Not that it really matters, the look on the woman's face when Yoongi speaks is scandalised enough as it is. Even without the get up.

Rarely the 'questioner’ will stay around for more conversation after that, frantically excusing themselves with the promise that they need more champagne. And boy is Yoongi happy to see the back of that woman's head right now when she follows suit and plods away, a half filled champagne glass and no intention of snagging a waiter.

He questions what does it. Is it the gay, the erotic or the writer?

Two birds one stone, he supposes. They find out he's gay and he's also a writer. A writer of erotic fiction. That's gay. See, two birds. One hefty stone throw that bounces like it's in a pin ball machine with a satisfying snap. And the pay off is just marvellous.

Minutes drag on by when he feels rather sated by the quiet. Of course, until somebody else of high society totters over, half a champagne glass and here we go again. Yoongi reminds himself to check his watch the last second before they approach, before throwing his head back slightly with a fake smile in greeting.

This guy is a stockbroker he explains. Really big business, apparently. Probably looking to form some sort of circle jerk with all the strapping young fellas in the room who look in a similar age to himself and Yoongi. Like _look at me, I’m the alpha, the caveman grunted._ Yoongi is positively sick of pretending to like these people.

Which makes the delivery of the line so much better. And he checks his watch when the stockbroker scampers away. 3 minutes and 42 seconds. He almost broke his record for the night. Good on him.

The thing is, he owns it. Owns the whole fucking thing that is his life and wears it around his neck so everybody can see. He spent 3 years in high school, 3 years too long, to be bothered now by what people thought. At least University was better. But then again, he couldn't remember being around one person in university who wasn't above a 2 on the Kinsey scale.

Which isn't a scathing comment on levels of education versus sexuality versus morality. It was rather a comment on the fact Yoongi learned to surround himself with the right people. And those people were the people who turned out to be like him. We all do tend to travel in packs, after all.

Which leads us back to right now. Where he is now sat at a table of people he's supposed to be enjoying the company of, even though he recognises none of them. He knows it's a carefully planned seating plan, guided towards encouraging _networking_. Everybody at the table is probably a writer of some sort, at a push a journalist and as a last resort even a critic. He has to say, he hates this even more than avoiding the circle jerks and vol-au-vent mingling hour.

But then the reason he's enduring all this mess has walked onto the stage, face preened into a beautiful smile. Hoseok, the social butterfly extraordinaire. Yoongi joins in with the loud applause, it seems the whole room also loves Hoseok as much he does.

Yoongi mind wanders to think if anybody in this room knows Hoseok enjoys getting his hands (and his knees) just as dirty as Yoongi does. And the filthy secrecy of it all is enough to have him almost enjoying the crowds unknowing cheers.

When the charity event actually begins, an auction, Yoongi’s playing along with the whole offering of money. Throwing his bidding paddle into the air with gusto much to the approval of Hoseok who reels off a _1 million won from the gentleman in the fine suit._

The theatrics of it all is really quite pathetic. Because he knows and everybody knows this isn't for one single second about the charity. It's all one big race of who can splash out the most money on something they don't give a single shit about for a cause they equally don't give a shit about. Which is why when Yoongi leaves he’ll make a quiet donation to the charity of the evening anonymously, with enough money to make your eyes water.

The bidding of a travel package to the Mediterranean causes Yoongi’s eyes to slip around the room absentmindedly. Takes in all the actors in the room throwing up their paddles like they couldn’t already afford the thing they’re bidding on at its original price a hundred times over. But that’s the fun of it all to them.

And the Oscar goes to… except Yoongi never catches who outbid everybody else for his eyes are snagged on another pair that follow his own. Young and wide eyes. On a face that Yoongi at that moment wishes had _come fuck me bedroom eyes on it_ because Jesus Christ, even Adonis himself would be jealous. Even the way his blonde hair flops over his eyes a little when he adjusts his gaze, sends a little shiver through Yoongi’s body.

The strangers mouth settles into a pout, which only accentuates the plumpness of his lips.

Yoongi blinks, rolls his tongue out his mouth to lick his lips and surveys his options. Is he really righteous enough to spend his whole night despising the rich and entitled until he thinks about fucking one of them at the first chance he gets? Of course he is. And the bitter self loathing that comes a couple of days later, it will be almost worth it.

And he tries, he really does try to concentrate back on the auction. Because he needs to least pretend he's listening for the sake of his reputation. His dignity? The last strand of hope he has for himself that he isn't going to spend the whole night heart eyeing a stranger?

That last strand of hope frayed and fluttered in Yoongi’s hands exactly 49 seconds into the whole act. When he glanced directly back at the stranger, their eyes already on Yoongi. This time their chin settled into the palm of their hand, head slightly turned. Mouth only just slightly agape curiously. Oh Jesus.

It's when the final bid of the evening is placed and the crowd ignite into flutters of _did you hear how much this person bid_ and _did you see this person didn’t bid anything at all that_ Yoongi’s eyes finally leave the stranger. For once, the chatter is music to Yoongi’s ears and he can easily slip out of the room without as much of a glance from anybody in it.

He strides out of the hall to the final champagne reception of the evening, leans on a pilar central to the door and prepares himself to meet eyes once again with the boy. They had after all, spent the last 20 minutes glaring at each other. And Yoongi wants to know why and who at least, irregardless of the outcome.

He half expected to catch his gaxe and beckon him over. Other half expected to have to search him out. Doesn’t expect the guy to come right up next to him and speak to him. But then he’s wrong, and the boy is walking right over to him. But scratch boy, his body is very much to Yoongi’s almost giddy delight, man.

Which isn't Yoongi’s only revelation, as he learns up close the man is even more so beautiful.

Not that he gathers much time to extend that thought, as he is now being spoken to by said man. Barely catching him saying, “have you ever considered it’s rude to stare?” Their voice is a lot smoother and softer than Yoongi’s own, but still interjected by the slightest hint of teasing. Yoongi nearly blushes. 

“I can say the same to you can’t I?” Yoongi throws back, much to even his own surprise. The stranger pouts again, shifts a little where he stands. “You started it”.

“Incorrect you caught my eye first”.  
“Only because you caught mine”.

They blink at each other. Because clearly looking at each other, which they'd already done for a long 25 or so minutes in that stuffy bidding hall, hadn't satisfied either of them. It's broken only by the sudden thrust of a hand out towards Yoongi.

He looks down at the strangers outstretched arm, notes the Rolex on his wrist. Yoongi has the same exact watch at home. He laces their fingers and shakes.

“Jimin”.  
“Yoongi”.

“What brings you here tonight?” Jimin says, leaning against the pillar right beside Yoongi as the last of the stragglers in the bidding hall leave. Champagne back out at the ready, more silver trays hoisted in the air. Interestingly, their attention is only on each other.

“Oh I’m obviously just here for a good time,” Yoongi retorts, eyes only flicking away to shake his head at an approaching waiter brandishing flutes of gold sparkling liquid. Jimin however takes one, smiles brightly and bows. “Stupid question then,” he says, sipping on the liquid timidly.

“The auctioneer is my friend. He asked me to be here,” Yoongi states, almost trying to sound passive. Jimin cocks his head slightly, hovering over the glass for a moment. “So you're here on what, a free pass?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Completely. Poor old me just loves spending time with the obscenely rich so I can steal champagne and overpriced puff pastry.”

“You know I didn't mean it like that”. Except they both know, he completely did. And had it been the truth Jimin probably would of cut the conversation off, that’s what Yoongi thinks anyway. Yoongi smiles regardless. “What about you?”

“Well father asked me to come, said I should get used to stuff like this”.  
“Ah, a chaebol.”

Jimin for a spilt second, Yoongi registers, looks slightly less composed. Eyes fluttering just a little bit more rapidly as if the suggestion amused him a little, lips poised into the ghost of a smirk.

“Hm. Something like that.”

Whatever it meant, Yoongi chooses to ignore it. In this moment it really honestly didn't matter to him at all. Jimin could be the son of The Great fucking Gatsby and he wouldn't give a shit.

“How old are you?”  
“24”.

And that Yoongi doesn't ignore. He scoffs slightly, leaning forward a little towards Jimin. “It’s hyung from now on then”.

Jimin rolls his eyes this time, almost disrespectfully lilting his voice into a tease. “You do not look old enough to be my hyung”.  
  
“I’m 26 for starters and you don’t even look old enough to be in a place serving alcohol,” Yoongi starts to reach for Jimin’s glass, his fingers only just missing taking a hold of it with a tormenting smirk on his face.

Jimin exerts some air out of his mouth mockingly, moving the glass out of Yoongi’s reach and lifting his eyebrows. “If we’re going to talk about what the other seems like, by the offended look on your face, you don’t seem like you want to be here. So what do you do that means you are?” His eyes watch Yoongi over the rim of his glass flute as he sips again.

“I write gay erotic fiction.”

Now Yoongi isn't one for dramatics normally, but he at least expected some form of reaction from Jimin. Would of died to see him spit out the champagne in surprise, eyes wide and searching.

Except Jimin just finishes sipping, nodding to himself with his eyes on the ground. When he looks back up towards Yoongi he has a charming glare to his face, underlined with an almost suggestive expression. “Explains a lot. Would I have heard of you?”.

Yoongi shuffles a little on his feet, his body reacting in surprise at the dodge to his plan. He at least expected some sort of reaction other than _understanding_. “Depends, how much homosexually inclined fiction have you read?” He finally manages to drawl out, watching as Jimin smiles again.

“Not nearly enough”.  
“You’re missing out”.

“And how do you go about writing those?” And there it is again, the suggestive underline that paints Jimin’s face ever so slightly. It's the details in the tiny lift of his brow, the slight heaviness on his lids. It's almost as intoxicating as the drink in Jimin’s hand.

Yoongi swallows audibly. “Mostly from my memory”.

“Convenient. But how can you be in two places at once?”  
“Some of us switch”.

And Jimin laughs, Yoongi believes it's probably the younger’s most real reaction of the night. And undoubtedly Yoongi’s favourite. His eyes slide into two upturned crescent moons, body shaking slightly. When he speaks finally, his voice gasps slightly. “Do we?”

“Do you not?” Yoongi adds on a pout to the fake sympathy in his voice just for effect, causing another cacophony of giggles from Jimin. “Your assumption that I do anything is very bold”.

“But not incorrect”. At the drawl of Yoongi’s words, the giggles and softness slides off Jimin’s face to be replaced by a sultry and wicked glare Yoongi can only relate to one word. Sin.

“I’m sure you’d love to know,” and at the snap of the final syllables Jimin laces his fingers into the ends of Yoongi’s tie, flicking it in between his fingers.

“Oh please don’t flatter yourself too much.” Yoongi’s voice sounds like it’s being stretched over his vocal chords, strained and willing to snap. His eyes are focused on the small delicate fingers carelessly fidgeting with his tie. The fabric tightens a little around his throat and his breath catches only slightly.

“Says the guy who just based his whole career on his ability to fuck”. Jimin stops playing with his tie, looking up at Yoongi again with searching eyes. 

“I did not”. The end of Yoongi’s tie leaves Jimin’s fingers, softly tapping his chest when it falls. One of Jimin’s hands now rest on his mouth when he steps back, tapping it slightly in mock questioning.

“Really? Because even I know you would need to be a pretty good writer to be mixing with these people. Invited even. Especially considering your genre. So you must be good and you must be rich. And if it’s all by memory then well…” his words trail off with a satisfied pout, tapping his mouth once more for effect.

Yoongi honestly doesn't know if he's scared or turned on. Both?

“That was good,” he finally says, clearing his throat a little. Whicu he realises is completely pointless, as the tension in his voice would be noticeable even if you were listening from across the room.

Again Jimin shoots him his winning smile. “Not just a pretty face”.

“Will you have a drink with me?” Jimin asks seconds later, casually and with a soft smile. Yoongi nods, head already turning to search for a waiter, his arm ready to call one over when Jimin grabs it, lightly pulling it down. “Oh no, not here. No, follow me”.

He lets the arm drop and Yoongi watches him walk slowly, beckoning him to follow. And he does.

This, Yoongi will soon realise, was his first bad decision of the evening.

  
$ $ $

  
The room he is brought to is just off a corridor not far from the hall. It's far away enough from the large centre that the music and voices are drowned out to merely background noise. Jimin has to tap on the door to enter, smiles graciously at the employee who opens it and walks inside.

When Yoongi follows, after bowing to the man obediently holding it, he realises this was not what he imagined.

Heavy smoke fills the air, almost ghostlike in the dimmed lights of the room. Several armchairs are laid out in the room, large and foreboding plush armchairs. A bar and drinks cabinet to the corner. The room isn't empty but it's not lively either, everybody just seems to be talking amongst themselves. Hushed tones and near silence. A couple hold cigars, which Yoongi guesses accounts for the smoke he's currently choking on.

When they walk forward slightly, all eyes look up at them. Jimin is greeted with nods and acknowledgment. However Yoongi, Yoongi is met with cold glares.

Now the rich on a good day unsettles him. And he'd probably feel at least a little wary of the men if they were outside of this room. But right now he feels something close to fear. Like they're a pack of lions and he is their defenceless prey.

Perhaps he'd halted slightly when walking across the room, for Jimin’s hand is tugging at his elbow, leaning slightly in to him to mutter closer to his ear.

“Ignore them, fathers associates are a little-,” Jimin pulls away slightly, motioning near his head with a turn of his hand, mouthing out the word _crazy_.

Moments later Yoongi is seated on one of those armchairs, which he realises are actually quite comfortable, even if they are unnecessarily large. Jimin isn't looking at him, instead studying the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. “What do you drink?”

“Whisky”. Yoongi would kill right now for some good whisky. Whisky he could be enjoying right now at home. Not in some rich strangers private bar with a chaebol heir.

“Oh god darling you do know the whole struggling writer aesthetic is really old nowadays,” Jimin turns back towards him, eyebrows pitifully pulled together in distaste. It's almost offensive.

“What? What's wrong whisky?”  
“Literally everything, are you going to whip out your cigar next as well?”

Jimin stands up, crossing the room and opening the large drinks cabinet. Surveys his options for a moment before reaching out for a large frosted bottle. When he returns he pours it into the glasses already at the table, doesn't care to measure it out.

“Have some vodka, have you heard of this?” Yoongi looks down towards the bottle.

 _Belvedere Vodka_. Yes he has heard of it, Hoseok practically drinks it like water on the rare occasions they choose to get drunk together. And thus Yoongi has had to, too many times, be the person holding his friends head over the toilet when Hoseok vomits it up. Sobbing to himself, no doubt due to the dollar notes he's quite literally flushing away.

“Yes Jimin, I have heard of this”. Jimin ignores the sarcasm and disdained look on Yoongi’s face, lifting his own glass up to his mouth and mutters almost to himself. “Good then you'll know how expensive it is. Don't waste it”.

When Yoongi bites the bullet and tastes the vodka, he's reminded why he doesn't drink it. It's not the same clean taste as whiskey, it's a lot more acrid and sharp. In a way that even this vodka, expensive and flashy, is still burning a stain into his throat. It might be expensive shit but to him it's just that, shit.

“So what business is your father in?”  
“Oh he's in a lot of business actually. None of it important”.

“Right,” an almost awkward silence edges into the air, hanging there over Yoongi’s head like a warning. “Is he here tonight?”

“He had to go somewhere, something urgent came up,” Jimin pouts slightly, hand searching for his drink again.

“So what do you while he's taking care of business?” Yoongi tries again, holding onto to anything to stop the descent of the conversation. He assumes then that conversation of Jimin’s father is for now, out of bounds.

“Lots of things. Shopping, hobbies, seeing my friends, travelling. Things like tonight”.

The answer doesn’t surprise Yoongi, not that he expected it to. From an almost undignified standpoint Jimin to him is just some spoiled rich kid with too much time and too much money. With a credit card at his fingertips whenever he needs it, every single thing in his life catered for. And honestly, it's quite sad to Yoongi.

However Yoongi’s mind turns slightly to surprise when he hears the wistful tone of Jimin’s voice when he continues to speak. “Mostly I dance, have since I was young”.

“You do have a dancers body,” tumbles out of Yoongi’s mouth before he can snap his mouth shut, revealing a beyond entertained look from Jimin. “I do? Which part of me gives that away?”

The way Jimin slowly sits back against the armchair and angles his head allows for more of his body to be displayed out in front of Yoongi. He lets his eyes run over Jimin for a mere three seconds before he snaps his eyes shut. Grits the muscle of his tongue in between his teeth until he lets go.

“Lots of you”.

Which isn't a lie. A lot of Jimin does suggest dancer. Screams it in, in fact. The way he moves, fluidly and calculated through the room. Every tip of his glass, flick of his hair and movement of his head. It is choreographed, poised and formulated.

But then again, physically Yoongi could argue he looks like a dancer too. The solid jut of collarbone that escapes from the hem of Jimin’s silk dress shirt. The dark material straining on Jimjn’s thighs, hard and toned. The shallowness of his waist. And god forbid, the curve of ass which Yoongi tried so fucking hard to ignore.

Yes, lots of Jimin. All of him.

This same Jimin pouts again, tips his glass back further almost in victory. Slams it against the table and fills it right back up.

“What about you?”  
“Me?”  
“Well you can't just be a writer, what do you do for fun?”

Yoongi pauses. Thinks so hard his brain might turn to mush. What does he do for fun?

“Really I am. I used to like making music but.” Another pause. “I just write”.

“There's always time for yourself silly,” Jimin says brightly, a kind smile following behind.

“Hmm not when your manager is looming over you like a hawk at every second,” he downs his own drink, letting it clatter onto the table and expects Jimin to fill it back up. Which he doesn't, he instead regards Yoongi with his ever returning mischievous grin.

“Well he's not here now is he?”

Not that it would matter if he was, Seokjin was far from a looming hawk like manager. He constantly told Yoongi he needed to relax a little, live a little bit more. If he was here he’d probably be the one lifting Yoongi up and forcing him out of the room with Jimin. 

“No he's not”. 

Jimin stands suddenly, motioning for Yoongi to follow almost hurriedly.

“Lets get away then”.  
“And go where?” Yoongi grips the arms of the chair, willing his legs to stand but instead rooted to the spot. Because honestly, he doesn't really know what he's doing anymore. He could be in bed right now asleep, but god no, his stupid horny brain has now tiptoed it's way into some sort of fucking adventure.  
  
“Anywhere. The night is young and so are we”. Jimin stops when he senses Yoongi faltering, his hands still gripping the chair, mouth slightly dumbstruck and jaw loose when he looks up at Jimin.

“What you scared of stranger danger or something?”  
“No it's just-.” Yoongi can't help but stop talking. Is he scared of danger, he thinks. Or is he just scared of the prospect of something different. Something that might actually be, god forbidding, fun?

So he stands. Earns himself an eyebrow raise and another grin from the man leading the way.

“Good boy”.

And that right there seals the deal. Yoongi is fucking sold. Sold, to the gentleman in the silk shirt.

 

And Min Yoongi doesn't know it yet, but this was his second bad decision of the evening.

 

-$ $ $-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started off a short drabble that was supposed to end around the 3k mark but then i kept writing and writing and kept getting ideas. now it's became a huge thing. 
> 
> so enjoy the ride because i honestly don’t know where this journey is going
> 
> any questions about any of the tags, direct them down below. lots of love uwu 
> 
> ♡ [twitter](https://twitter.com/rosyjoony) ♡ [pinterest](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/rosyjoony/) ♡ [ask ](https://curiouscat.me/rosyjoony) ♡


	2. marlboro and chiron

When the cold air hits Yoongi he has to take a sharp intake of breath, following obediently behind Jimin who swishes ahead in his large dress coat. Tapping away on his smartphone until he turns his head when he stops at the curb. “Did you drive here or shall I call my driver?”

“I’ll just get a cab,” Yoongi almost reaches for his own phone when he notices the scandalised glare on Jimin’s face.

“What? Don't tell me you've never took a cab”. “Well not necessarily”. Jimin only just awkwardly bows his head a little before he looks back at Yoongi.

“Get your driver if it makes you feel better,” Yoongi snapped back at him, blinking at Jimin’s frown which melted into another grin.“You know, I didn't think it was possibly to meet somebody who is snobby like you”.

Jimin is still grinning when he, Yoongi assumes, contacts his driver.

“How'd you mean?” Yoongi asks, brow furrowing without his control.

“You seem to hate the wealthy, it's like anti snobby,” Jimin pockets the phone and steps forward a little bit more, so himself and Yoongi are standing so close he could reach his hand out only slightly and pull him forward.

“I hate the things wealth does to people, there's a difference”.  
“Which is fine but looking at me like I’m insane because I have a driver is a bit of a reach”.

  
“And?” Yoongi could of hid the defensive sharpness of his tone but right now, he feels its needed.

“And my point is you’re wearing a 3 million won suit,” and Jimin reaches out for his tie again, smoothing the material down and then pulling slightly as he leans forward more.

“You're one of us darling”.

  
$ $ $

  
Surprisingly the drive is silent and only heightens Yoongi’s anticipation of what he was being drove to. At this moment Yoongi could be letting himself travel right into a serpents jaw. The street knowledge he’d accumulated over the years told him to not get into strangers cars, even if they had a chauffeur.

And Jimin was still a stranger, Yoongi had to realise that sooner rather than later.

Somewhat 5 minutes into the drive Yoongi peaked at Jimin from across the leather back seat, watching him take his bottom lip into his mouth as he scrolled slowly on his phone. He was odd, Yoongi decided. Sometimes he seemed very real, like when he laughed and he smiled. It was bright and that was closest to him. But then other times he appeared perfectly positioned, like if he took a step out of line the whole façade would shatter.

It was sad. And Yoongi would of felt something more than pity, had he known him for longer at least.

Dwelling on that fact to Yoongi, would be counterproductive. So he chooses to admire the drive, watches the upper class urban city fixtures melt into the large mansions that backdrop the city. Some of the mansions he can’t even see, they’re bordered by large walls and fenced off from the world.

He thinks of his own apartment and how much he wishes he could be in bed. It’s past 1am now, something he sordidly realises when he checks his phone. Clutching onto the leather under-seat with the thought of his bed and no idea where his destination is, he realises he has no idea why exactly he is here.

Jimin had made no clear suggestion that they were going to get together and he hadn’t yet hinted the intentions of the car journey. Sure he was slightly flirty per se but he was also, Yoongi had noted, very charming and very beautiful. With a voice like silk and honey. Even the most poisonous of words on Jimin’s tongue could probably sound like temptation. It was just strange to Yoongi. And he’d let himself completely wander into the unknown.

They pull into a dark and foreboding fenced off area some minutes later, after driving down a blacked out driveway, Jimin getting out of the car whereas Yoongi still stares into the abyss.

“Are you getting out,” Jimin leans back into the car, looking at Yoongi with something close to anticipation. Yoongi nods, bracing himself for the cold. “We’re round the back of the house, at the golf course,” Jimin states, when they’re standing outside as the driver slowly pull away.

“Golf course?”

Of all the things he expected to hear, Yoongi is almost close to surprised. Until he realises where he is, more importantly who he is with.

A mansion with a golf course with some heir to a multimillionaire company. It figures, why would they not have a back yard golf course?

Growing up Yoongi had a concrete slab and the garbage bin in his backyard. This was far and beyond excessive.

When he looks back he can see the mansion standing in its all superior glory, across the large verge. It’s illuminated only slightly, the lights fading against its many floors and extensions. In short, it’s fucking huge. They begin to walk across the grass, the only sound the crush of well maintained lawn beneath their feet.

“Are we playing a game in the dark or something?” Yoongi asks and Jimin’s laugh fills the silent air, his figure almost gone in the light that only just reaches them. “God no, we’re here to smoke”.

Oh.

“You smoke?”  
“You think I just said it for the effect? Sit down or something Yoongi”.

Yoongi smoked in high school. He remembers he used to do it behind the school building with guys he didn’t really care for and who equally didn’t care for him. It tasted bitter and harsh, he coughed and spluttered until everybody around him laughed themselves silly.

Maybe he had tried, once in his life, to fit into the shapes and patterns that were set out for him. Tried so hard to appear cool, clutching a cigarette in his hand like a lifeline, clogging his lungs just so they could accept him. And maybe he was one stick away from breaking through the façade and being accepted but he’ll never know.

He was outed and everybody treated him different anyway.

“You know when you said you wanted to go somewhere, I expected at least a bar or something”. Jimin hands him a cigarette wordlessly from beside him, lights his own and inhales.

“Well I like to come out here, you can see all the stars,” Jimin exhales, while Yoongi still clutches the lighter passed onto him.

“It’s fucking cold”.  
“Then smoke and you won’t feel it as much”.

Yoongi lights it, feels the bitterness coat his tongue in one long drag and splutters, lurching forward. Through giggles Jimin moves to sit him up, lightly patting his back. Another drag and Yoongi just coughs. Another and he might even begin to enjoy it. Smoke fills the dark space in front of them, white tendrils of air that mingle with their cold breath. Knees touching while they sit on the verge near the fourth hole of Jimin’s golf course. Something in it is actually quite juvenile, in itself.

“You’re probably wondering why I brought you out here.” Jimin’s voice cuts through the silence as he continues to drag on the cigarette, his face momentarily lit up as he does by its end. Yoongi catches the way the glow moves on his face. Even then, in the pitch black dark with a cigarette in his mouth, he’s beautiful.

“You realise that makes you sound like you’re in the mafia, right?”

A few seconds lapse out in front of them where no words are spoken before Jimin begins to laugh.  
“Shut up”.

“I’m serious, like what? Are you about to stab me?” Jimin laughs again and Yoongi just blinks, he can’t see Jimin’s face but if he had he would of saw the almost reluctancy in Jimin’s eyes. Had he saw it, he would not of known what it meant. But it would have been a fair warning for what was to come.

“Oh my god, no. Honestly you seem like a cool guy, a bit strung up in your own ways. But cool. I just wanted to talk, I guess”.

“That’s it, thats the reason?”  
“And well honestly I just wanted to smoke as well,” Jimin inhales and grins at Yoongi in the dark, the darkness returning when he pulls away the stub.

“You can’t smoke anywhere else?”  
“You’d be surprised”.

“Scared somebody might recognise you?”  
“Something like that”.

And it was indeed, something like that. Yoongi’s words were tinged with suggestion of Jimin being some sort of, what, rich socialite? It was far from the truth. But Yoongi didn’t need to know that yet.

“Just enjoy your cigarette and think about the stars,” Jimin continues, leaning back on himself to watch the smoke as he blew it into the dark.

“You’re quite strange aren’t you, underneath all that I’m wealthy and hot vibe”.Yoongi allows time to inhale when he finishes, pushing out the smoke when Jimin speaks.

“You think I’m hot?” Jimin says after some time pondering Yoongi’s words, another long drag.

“That’s all you took away from that?”  
“I’m also really vain, you’ll get used to it”.

Yoongi looks into the dark, not really knowing how to reply to that suggestion of getting used to anything when it comes to Jimin. Because that suggests more time together, more time trying to keep himself together under Jimin’s stare while also trying not to regress into the part of him which identifies Jimin as one of the people he tries to avoid.

His eyes follow down to the cigarette in between his fingers, twirling it a little as the ash falls.

“The last time I smoked I don’t even think I was legal to”.  
“Hmm I smoke sometimes, normally with Taehyung but he’s busy a lot lately”.  
“Taehyung?”

Taehyung. Young, wild and chaotic Taehyung. Taehyung who spent too much time with Jimin and his brother rather than doing his actual job. Scolded multiple times for that exact reason but still remained one of the most trusted and hardworking members of the families business.

So Jimin tells him that with a solid nod. “He works for my father, my age. He’s been around so long now we’re practically brothers”.

“I’m the same with Hoseok, the auctioneer guy”.  
“Oh he’s beautiful, I can see why you keep him around”.

“Jeez Jimin,” And Yoongi laughs, the gums of his mouth peeking slightly.

“What? I’m not allowed to be honest?”  
“Yeah well he’s an annoying little shit anyway”.  
“You love him really,” Jimin teases, jostling Yoongi’s shoulder.

“He made me buy this suit you know?” Yoongi flicks away the last of the cigarette, the stub disappearing into the grass.

“Good! It looks amazing on your ass by the way,” And Jimin does the same, not caring for the manicured golf course while his voice melted into something darker, less sweeter and suggestive.

“You were looking at my ass?” It leaves Yoongi a little flustered. Thinking about that. Jimin looking at his ass. Jimin and anything to do with ass. Jimin. Ass. Indeed, flustered.

“Oh honey who wasn’t,” And Yoongi coughs a little again, this time not from the smoke but just the air seeming to get sucked into his lungs a little too quickly.

“No wonder you’re such a good writer, all the guys must be throwing themselves at you,” Jimin rests his cheek on his knees, searching for Yoongi’s face in the darkness. It was hard to really gauge the conversation when all the mansions light was wasted far from where they sat. His eyes barely able to pick out the solid line of Yoongi’s jaw, who's eyes are resting on the mansion.

“It’s big,” Yoongi nods slightly towards the building “the mansion I mean.”  
“Hmm. Really? Always thought it was quite small”.

“You should consider a job as a comedian,” Yoongi replies dryly, erupting a row of giggles from Jimin which he pathetically and quietly appreciated. “Ah I tried, everybody was too distracted by my face”.

Even through Jimin’s poor jokes, Yoongi could probably see it as being true. Had he himself not had 20 minutes of just staring at Jimin across the hall, he probably would have been speechless too. Sucked in by his face and his allure and not processing a single word. But then again, if Jimin was a comedian he could imagine people laughing anyway. Jimin seemed like the type of person where if he said jump, people were likely to say how high.

“How do you live somewhere like that though?”  
“I rarely do actually. Never liked it, even as a kid”. Jimin speaks slowly, softly. Each word a little more careful.

Yoongi can’t really sympathise with hating the many sprawling rooms of his own childhood home because rather he had hated the fact it didn’t have enough rooms. Or the smallness of the rooms. The fact he could walk out his bedroom door and into the kitchen. Maybe he shouldn’t of complained, in retrospect, he lived with his auntie who was laden with the responsibility of him without much choice. Her home was built for herself and her white cat Mowgli until Yoongi came along.

Staring at Jimin’s home and hearing of his hatred for it, almost made his skin prickle with jealousy.

“I would be scared somebody could be hiding in the house. With all the rooms,” Yoongi offers.  
Jimin nods, a partially forced smile on his face. “Killer for hide and seek though. We should try it out some time”.

“What? So I can get lost in there. You’ll find me three weeks later eating moth balls,” Yoongi retorts, pulling another laugh from Jimin. “You wish we had moth balls”.

“Nah, I can understand why you don't like it,” Yoongi stretches out his legs, scratching at the trousers material with his fingernail carelessly.

“For me it wasn't about finding somebody in the rooms it was rather not finding them. I was scared I’d wake up and everybody would be gone,” Jimin follows the line of his lips with his tongue, thinking after he spoke. “And it always felt lonely. Always cold too”.

“Sorry”.  
“It's fine, really”.

Silence is the worst way to follow soft spoken words. The jarring change is noticeable to everybody and itches at your skin, fuzzes in your brain. For Jimin, the silence that comes when he speaks electrifies a million impulses in his brain. Gnawing at him until he's left motionless, paralysed in anxiety.

He breathes, forces the light and playful tone back into his voice.

“Tell me about your childhood fears then. Lets make it even”.

Yoongi thinks. Survival, not being good enough, rejection.

“Clowns.” That wasn’t a lie, he really didn’t like clowns. Something about the face paint and manic hair and crazed laughter really didn’t agree with him. But then again, much bigger things had bothered him.

“Cop out, nobody likes clowns when they're little”.

“Yeah but I really didn't like them. I once went to a circus and my auntie had to take me home after being there three minutes because I pissed myself when a clown gave me a balloon”. Again, not a lie.

“Are you still like that?”  
“What? Pissing myself when I see clowns?”  
“Gross. I hope not”.  
“Nah. Unless one came running at me with a knife”.

Jimin throws himself into laughter after every sentence Yoongi seems to speak and Yoongi has to tense himself up at that, when Jimin’s body suddenly collides with his and leans into him.

“Most people would piss themselves if anybody came running out them with a knife,” Jimin says through more giggles.

“See that's where you're wrong. If somebody came running out me with a knife I’d probably say thanks,” a smile can be heard when Yoongi speaks, an amused smile.

“Oh wow dark. If there's anything worse than the writer aesthetic it's the struggling artist aesthetic”.  
“My aesthetic is cool thanks,” and trying not to sound too offended by that comment was hard for Yoongi because even though he did know his personal style was black and moody, it was cool. Right?

“Hmm I guess. I do like your earrings though”.

Jimin without warning reaches out and grazes the line of rings on Yoongi’s ear with his finger. Catching every piercing with a slight tug and then finishing it off by dipping just behind Yoongi’s ear below his lobe. Yoongi has to beg every single bone in his body, every single nerve in his body to not betray him because he's so close to shivering under his touch it's insane. Almost fucking keens into it like a wide eyed helpless puppy. Has Yoongi became that touch deprived? Jesus Christ.

Words finally catch up to Yoongi and they come out like they're barely leaving his lips. “Where are we going after this?”

“Depends, where do you wanna go?”

Bed. Bed with you. Bed alone. The semantics and the nuances of it all don’t really bother Yoongi. But he can’t really say that out loud. So he settles for second best.

“Surprise me”.

  
$ $ $

  
They make it past the golf course, round the side of the house and towards the front when Jimin stops walking.

He tilts his head inquisitively. Mouth slightly open, his eyes tight shut before throwing himself to the group. “Get down, Yoongi get down right now”.

As soon as Jimin finishes speaking, the air is ripped into with so much noise Yoongi can hardly think. He crouches beside Jimin, gripping onto his arm.

“Are we being fucking shot at it?”

Yoongi’s body is seized up in panic and just honest fear, no muscle dares to move. Jimin begins to move, slowly, hurriedly turning his head to grit out a response.

“Follow me, stay down”.

Yoongi crawls along the tarmac, knees of his trousers and palms of his hands catching on the gravel. It stings, but so does the ring in his ears. He can’t distinguish where the bullets are coming from, if they’re aimed for him. He just knows they’re everywhere. A metal storm, one bullet could be fatal.

When Jimin stops he looks up, they’re at a side door to the mansion, disguised into the white marble walls. Jimin extends a hand to open it, frantically crawling inside with Yoongi behind him.

Once inside Yoongi leans against the side of the room, beside the door. He breaths like he’s drowning, air entering his lungs in big gulps. The rooms bright lights overhanging them blind him for a few moments before he settles and he sees they’re in some sort of garage. While he catches his breath, Jimin is already standing, frantically scanning the room.

“What the fuck was that?” Yoongi begins to say, his breath ragging the edges of his words.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up”. Jimin leans his head into his outstretched palms, rubbing at his skin slowly with his fingertips in thought. “Oh my god I can’t believe this is happening right now”.

“You can’t believe, Jimin explain what the-“

A loud bang echoes throughout the room. A new found dent graces the door, the bullet just shot at it encased in the metal. “FUCK”. Yoongi screams, rolling away from the side of the door and getting up on his feet. “-is going on right now”.

“To put it simply Yoongi, we’re currently in the middle of a mob war,” Jimin speaks through his fingers, pulling them away from his face only when he is met with silence.

“Now would you like to take the Lambo or the Bugatti?”

“Get in any fucking car right now Jimin or I swear to god,” Yoongi seethes in his words, eyes wild and frantic as he hovers on his feet.

“Bugatti it is.”

Jimin points towards a red and black Bugatti Chiron in the corner of the room. It’s sleek, well cared for. The car is worth millions of American dollars, a beast of a car. In an ideal setting, Yoongi would of enjoyed driving that car. Would of savoured the feeling of the leather upholstery, the way the car purred into life.

Except this is not an ideal setting and as he pulls out of the garage, bullets are aimed for the car, causing an unwelcome rise of panic in Yoongi’s throat as he races away.

He drives with no direction, checking the mirrors constantly to see if they’re being followed. Much to his surprise they’re not, yet it doesn’t cease the blinding ache in his chest from shallow breaths, the fuzziness of his vision. He doesn’t even think to panic about the fact he has copious amounts of alcohol saturating his bloodstream as he drives faster towards the centre of the city.

It’s Jimin who finally clears his throat some 5 minutes away, glancing over at Yoongi gripping the wheel. “Can you breathe normally now. It's really putting me off”.

“Putting you off what,” Yoongi speaks through his teeth, sat unnaturally against the wheel, too close.

“Admiring how panicked you look right now”.

Yoongi whips his head round towards Jimin, eyes wide and blown out. The shadows of a scowl on his face. “I've just been in a shoot out Jimin I’m literally this close to a cardiac arrest”.

“You were caught in the middle of it actually,” Jimin mutters under his breath, looking down at his hands.

“That doesn't make anything better!”

“At least you're driving a Bugatti Chiron right?” Jimin’s voice brightens, reaching forward to tap the dashboard of the car playfully, smiling at Yoongi while he clenches the wheel and stares forward. “Relax the adrenaline will kick in soon enough,” Jimin tries again.

“You could of fucking told me earlier that the reason you're stinking fucking rich is because-“ Yoongi tries to speak before Jimin let’s out a jarring laugh which slices Yoongi’s words. “Come on now Yoongi, wasn’t it obvious?”

“Your father is a criminal”.

Jimin laughs again, a playful almost dark giggle. “Criminal? Darling he's the leader of a mob”.

Yoongi nearly swerves the car off the road at that point before screaming out, “THIS DOES NOT MAKE ME FUCKING FEEL BETTER”.

“Oh my god, just stay calm. If you crash this car I’m fucked.”  
“Do you have anywhere we could go? Like a safe house or something,” Yoongi frantically tries to speak, gulping down more breaths.

“Oh I have my own apartment”.  
“And you couldn't of said?” Yoongi’s voice is merely a squeak.

“I thought it might of seemed a little forward!” Jimin’s own voices pitches slightly, through his grin.

“Okay then I’ll drop you off home”.

“And what? Drive back to your place in my fathers Bugatti? Good luck with that genius”. Jimin tuts a little, huffing in his chair only slightly as Yoongi tries to reject staying over the night. It stung his ego a little and he felt his pout come out insolently.

“Then I'll drop you off and get a cab home”.  
“It's 3am, cabs are out of the question”.

“I can walk”.  
“Oh my god Yoongi, just sleep on my couch or something,” And Jimin almost would of let him walk out on the street due to the utter disrespect. But then again, he didn’t truly want that.

“Fine. Directions”.

  
$ $ $

 

When he reaches Jimin’s apartment, it doesn’t exactly suit the word apartment. Apartment to Yoongi is a studio, small and compact. Jimin’s apartment is modern, probably worth three times his own apartment. With everything monotone and floor to ceiling windows, along with various scattered house plants and minimalist furniture pieces. It’s not really a home, at least it doesn’t feel like one, rather it just looks like a show room.

“Here’s some clothes and stuff,” Jimin passes him a stack of neatly pressed soft clothes and a blanket to Yoongi who is sat tensely on his couch. His mouth is dry and his tongue is stuck in place. When he tried to speak he had to force the muscle to move.

“Thanks,” his voice is hollow and dull, it aches to speak.

“Tea? Tequila?”  
“Sleep.”  
“Right, you sure you don't want my bed?”

Yoongi shakes his head, still clutching onto the clothes in his hands. Holding tighter and tighter onto the material, his nails digging in. And release. He turns his head towards Jimin when he finally finds the courage to speak.

“That thing tonight, was it something big?”

“All just part of the game sweetheart. Something like that has been happening weekly for a while,” Jimin stands, sort of awkwardly hovering in the doorway, hands clasped at his front. His shirt is open near his neck, hair pushed back.

Not that Yoongi gives a shit, if he had the choice and didn’t feel like he was about to pass out, he’d be making a run for it right now. Not making a play at Jimin. Maybe.

“You’re protected though, right?” Yoongi speaks again, directing his gaze to a spot on the pristine floor and keeping it there. Eyes barely moving, blinks aching against the dry spots of his eyeballs.

“Too much, I usually have like 3 bodyguards with me,” Jimin says it with no much air in his voice, like the fact he has to have 3 men constantly there to protect him is normal. That’s not even normal for some idols?

“You’re probably causing a lot of trouble right now aren’t you, being by yourself,” Yoongi suddenly flops back into the sofa and looks up at the ceiling.

“Bravo, you caught me”.  
“Oh god Jimin,” Yoongi groans, slapping his hand onto his face a little too abruptly, which Jimin watches and tries to not laugh at, pushing the air into his cheeks as to not break.

“Do you know how hard it is to get away from them all? Give me some credit at least”.  
“Your father is going to fucking kill me and send my body parts off to my loved ones”.

“Oh no he only does that when somebody really pisses him off”. A pause.  
“So he might just throw your body out to sea”.

While Jimin laughs Yoongi extends his hand out to offer Jimin his middle finger, extracting more giggles. It’s so odd, that Jimin has the time to laugh in situations like this. Yoongi can barely move himself right now, his thoughts clogging up the airways of his brain.

“You really have a way with words, don’t you?”  
“Says the writer,” Jimin teases slightly.

“I’ll protect you silly. Besides I took the Bugatti so they’ll know I’m not really in danger. If I was I would of took the private plane”.  
“I honestly don’t know if you’re shitting me or not anymore”.  
“Relax, it’s fine and we’re away now”.

  
Yoongi rubs at his eyes, the back of his lid dancing with patterns as he rubbed and rubbed at the sleepiness weighing at his brain. If he didn’t sleep soon he might pass out anyway and he could talk tomorrow, he wanted to talk tomorrow. You don’t just get involved in the middle of a shoot out with somebody, finding out they’re related (or part of) the mafia and still want to tap their ass, without at least speaking about it.

Jimin ultimately came down to just what he seemed to be like. None of the real shit, possibly just all the superficial shit. And that irritated Yoongi. Irritated him to the point of nipping at the side of his mouth with his teeth and chewing on the skin till it became pulpy.

Jimin moves into the kitchen, making enough noise to wake a small village. Yoongi takes the time to change quickly, pulling on the tshirt that is a little too tight. It's Gucci. He's borrowing and sleeping in a Gucci fucking tshirt.

When Jimin returns with what caused all that noise (a glass of apple juice) he pouts slightly, Yoongi chooses to ignore it.

“So, who were the guys you’re fighting with?” Looks at Jimin who leans on the doorway again in his half unbuttoned shirt and cool exterior. Much different to Yoongi sat with his elbows on his knees and hands raking through his hair in a t-shirt that isn’t his.

“My dads mob is fighting with some guys called Scorpious. Huge assholes, lace their drugs with all kinds of shit and kill innocent people,” and Jimin actually has the tact to roll his eyes. Because oh god, there’s some sort of morality scale in mobs? After all isn’t it just all the same, it’s all criminal.

“What’s your dads mob called?”

“Geum-Kal-Pa”.

Geum-Kal-Pa. The name burns into Yoongi’s skull like a weld. Flexes and unflexes his fingers nervously. Geun-Kal-Pa, the Gold Knife Gang.

Flashes of online articles, posters, newspapers, tv reports. Years and years of hearing that name under people’s breath. Mostly from his auntie, who would hold his hand tighter when walking through certain parts of town. Walk a little bit faster when a group of men stood together on street corners. A slender knife etched into the back of their necks to show their loyalty.

The gang had managed to take over areas of the downtown practically overnight, some of the various fronts they operated from appearing just streets away from the place Yoongi grew up in. He never felt the need to be scared of those places, never really understood the hurry to run past them.

On the playground everybody pretended to be gang members anyway. Wielding their fingers pressed together as imaginary guns, dropping hands when a teacher or snitch would walk past. The logistics of it were always off, it was just a group of kids with guns back then. On and off the playground.

But soon enough they pushed enough hard drugs around that they’d started to gain some notoriety just from that. Even outside of downtown. When Yoongi was 16 he remembered reports of rival gang members and their families washing up in rivers, being found dead in ditches. A long narrow slit cut from their throat right down their body. Always the same mark and spilling guts.

Suddenly it wasn’t just men on street corners and fronts in his neighbourhood. It was something to fear. Quietly, behind closed doors. Where you didn’t have to worry about who was listening, hushed conversations over dinner. Something bigger, a phantom that just seemed to grow and grow like the pit of anxiety in their chest.

Yoongi puffs out his cheeks and blows out the breath he holds.

“So your dads gang doesn't do any of that shit either?”

“Oh no, we sell drugs and kill people. As well as illegal gambling, sex work, supplying weapons. All sorts of shit. We’re just more classy about it”.

And Yoongi can’t really think anymore. His brain is swirling in this new world he’s been opened up into only just by sitting on the couch of the offspring of the man who created it. Blood, dirty money and darkness coated his mind and coated everything around him.

Yoongi looked up at Jimin now, sleep causing a sudden softness to his voice.

“Jimin, have you ever done bad things?”

And Jimin just blinks and looks at Yoongi with a soft smile, soft voice.

“Somebody has to do it my darling. The worlds a filthy place”.

“Without us, it would be much worse”.

 

-$ $ $ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took so long to edit this chapter which is why it took so long. On top of that I’m working too much to write and it’s taken all of the creativity out of my s o u l.
> 
> anyway less excuses more thank u for the love on the first chapter, means so much buttercups. 
> 
> it’s so fun making jimin the mob boss and yoongi the sort of damsel character. hello trope subversion


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